Until the World Died on Us
by siriAshtpen
Summary: FemRyoma! Having quit the women's professional tennis circuit at fourteen, the American teen model Ryoma Echizen returns to Japan and enters Tenryujin Academy where her dead love for the sport comes haunting back to her. ON HIATUS.
1. relocation

**reedit version:** 12/19/2016

* * *

 **Some changes:**

[1] Ryoma came to Japan entering her tertiary education (high school) at _**Tenryujin Academy**_ [1] and is thus fifteen. She had competed in women professional tennis league only. Unlike in the canon however, she has played doubles with her older half-brother Ryoga and her childhood bestfriend Kevin Smith, and has more experience in it. In this story, Ryoma will not be the scrawny, unappealing tomboy who has appalling taste for fashion. She likes fashion and dressed as accordingly to her gender. No changes in Ryoma's name. It is implied that her parents prefers unconventional names for their children.

[2]A few changes from the original storyline are as follow, Tezuka Kunimitsu didn't go Pro yet in this timeline. But his elbow had fully recovered. Kawamura Takashi hasn't quitted playing tennis when he graduated from middle school. And Yukimura Seichi has fully recovered from Guillain-Barré Syndrome. _**All**_ highschool students from The New Prince of Tennis shall appear and they will be in the same age as the middle-schoolers.

[3] **Solange Federer** , a newly introduced OC. Younger sister to tennis superstar, Roger Federer. Ryoma's rival in the women's category.

* * *

 **[1]** **Tenryujin Academy** \- Located in Tokyo. An elite escalator boarding school.

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own The Prince of Tennis and The New Prince of Tennis. Also, mentions of real tennis players and their fictional profiles are not meant to alter or tarnish their glorious records.

* * *

 _chapter one: relocation_

It was the finals for the French Open women singles division. The sun was scorching, unforgiving and unyielding, yet enthusiastic tennis fans and sports analysts and media men still flock around the stadium to witness the most anticipated match in women tennis circuit between two uprising tennis superstar, the Swiss twenty-two-year-old Solange Federer, and the American fourteen-year-old Ryoma Echizen.

Although both are too young for the world, they've both displayed a rare talent only seen in ten years which can comparatively challenge men tennis circuits all over the world if not for the jarring discrimination between gender credibility. Therefore unless they take the major break of bagging the Grand Slams in their career record, the both of them will remained overshadowed by the skyrocketed careers of Solange's older brother, Roger Federer, and Ryoma's father and half-brother, Nanjirou and Ryoga Echizen instead.

They both knew full well how ugly prejudice can be. They've breathed and live through it for years, even more as they decided to take up the sport.

For Solange, it was pure admiration for her brother's achievements and the desire to reach to her brother's footsteps that made her start tennis. For Ryoma, tennis was her first love- a characteristic shared fervently by everyone in the Echizen household. And as the days and years went by, the feeling only grew stronger and lasting, morphing into something like a life line- her life line. Because before she knew it, tennis was everything she lived for.

Regardless of how they took up the sport, they both can agree that tennis for them meant more than just being able to play. It was something natural. Something that comes to them naturally. Like how natural breathing was or how blood continually runs through one's veins like a never-ending cycle. Tennis was something that blows life and if taken away shall snips off the single string that attaches them to the world.

However no matter how much talented they appeared to be, they were always ostracized by the glaringly gap between men and women tennis. Even if they were to prove their credibility to the men, they will never be accepted as someone equal…or even closer to that. Half-scorns, piteous glances and hesitant blows thrown as no one took them seriously. Whether it was the men's pride of not wanting to go all out to a woman or the misogynist thinking of not wanting to lose to the fairer sex, these prejudices doesn't change even in the era of the new.

Since Solange started earlier as she was older, she made it her goal to conquer the women's division before taking over the men's. Her goal after all was to someday stand in an official court against her brother whom she had admired since she was young.

However, taking over the women's was barely a competitive feat.

Although she had encountered and played against many players all over the world, they were just not the kind of matches she sought for.

Winning easily, without even an excuse for poor play, was just an outright slap in the face for her. It was a front mockery of her skills!

She was one who plans to dominate the entire tennis circuit, men and women's legion alike. In order to do so, she needed a strong rival who could give her a match truly worthy of her skills or go even beyond hers. Someone who'll quench her thirst for victory and power, but at the same time, make her feel the thrill of the game and have her playing until the point of exhaustion or until both of her feet collapse and her hands numbed enough to even hold a racket. She wouldn't settle for anything less if her beloved sport was on the line.

It has been too long- she thought no one can be procured as her rival not until the appearance of the year's junior champion of the US Open. A kid who same as her was overshadowed by the brilliant careers of her father and brother. A kid who may even share the same aspirations as her.

For once, she felt she had an ally. Although she doesn't know if the rumors were true or not, or if this kid was a commendable player worthy to be called a rival, she began to hope.

How they met was but of course in the tennis courts but Solange never thought they'll meet in such circumstances and playing as a _doubles_ team.

It happened on one of her tours in the US. At the age of twenty, she was confident- too overconfident that she exhausted her time visiting tennis courts to challenge random locals- women or men alike, instead of enjoying a much-deserved break.

It was on a neighboring tennis court she had passed by one afternoon where she met the young Ryoma Echizen who offered to be her doubles partner after being leered and taunted by some American street tennis players for carrying a racket with a skirt on.

' _Seriously, what's wrong with wearing a skirt when I'm a woman? It's a tennis skirt for God's sake!'_ she grumbled contemptuously at the offense. She was wearing appropriate tennis apparel the last time she checked. And if it doesn't make anyone better, she was wearing spandex shorts underneath.

As much as she wanted to blow up this moment, she heavily resisted the provoking urge by remaining tight-lipped as they droned on their pathetic attempts of underestimating her.

 _Not yet_ , she repeated, trying to soothe her ill mood. Not before she completely pummeled these dumb fools off the courts to the point they'll be wishing not to play the sport ever again. She'll definitely make them eat back their words and regret ever making a fool out of her.

It just so happened that they agreed to settle their terms through playing doubles- yet a dilemma for Solange since she obviously was by herself and knew practically no one other than herself, in this foreign land. She was considering asking anyone from the crowd. It didn't matter if he or she doesn't know how to play tennis; she just needed a person to stand by the court while she does the job. Besides, they should at least knew the basic rules of the game if they came here to watch, since if they don't, she didn't had the time to go over it.

And then _**she**_ appeared.

A girl with golden eyes shaded by a white cap, she approached her and offered to play doubles. Solange only gave her a brief thorough scan from head to toe, noting that she at least worn the appropriate tennis gear. That alone was enough.

Not one on giving a second thought about this impromptu doubles, she gave a nod, easily accepting the partnership. If the girl proved that she cannot play, she will just have to step up and cover for her. Easy as pie.

At that time, neither of them knew each other nor their achievements in the sport. For them, the other was just some stranger who plays tennis, and now they stand on the same court to prove these men wrong and defeat them.

Exactly _**ten**_ minutes later, the score ended with an overwhelming six games to zero, in Solange and the unnamed girl's favor.

There were sharp intakes of breath and collective gasps as both women won their match with an overwhelming margin, it's hardly considered fair really. Heck, it's heavily a one-sided match.

Both women severely outclassed their opponents, beating- no, _obliterating_ them in a brutal manner. It was humiliating enough that the two bunch of losers were the strongest pair around this area, and here they've been beaten by two unnamed women in a matter of minutes.

" **Holy cow! Those chicks are beasts! They're insane!** "

" **The game didn't even last long. And here I thought, no one can defeat Tim and Kyle.** "

" **Didn't they joined this year's US Open and seeded fourth? How disappointing. To only be defeated in street tennis like this.** "

Solange adjusted her previous stance, still surprised by the outcome of the game herself. Despite the loud murmurings of the enormous crowd that had gathered around the courts after taking interest on the game, she had her eyes solely on the shorter girl, interest coloring her eyes.

She had to admit. This girl was good. _Really_ good.

Although they've formed a temporary doubles team in such a short time, they've worked too well together- if she disregarded the little mess-up at the beginning of the game where she accidentally tipped their rackets- it seemed like being completely strangers weren't true.

' _Just how was that possible?_ ' She wondered, her brows furrowing in perplexity. Even she wasn't that expert in playing doubles. Actually, she hardly do doubles, preferring singles since she's not really the type to cooperate and do coordinated plays. She liked being the only one in control of the game. And she's quite stubborn like that.

Replaying the plays the shorter girl did in the past few minutes, she slowly found the answer to the unexpected brash outcome of the game. How can she possibly have missed it when it was just right before her eyes!

It was _her_ all along. This unnamed American girl had been the one in control of the entire game! _She_ made them play well together.

Every shots and returns were calculated and adjusted to match her pace and tempo. Even her noncommittal habits were unbecoming minimal and she found moving with a partner lighter and easier despite being _more_ comfortable with the baseline rather than the net- a major influence from her brother who despite being an exceptional all-rounder was occasionally seen at the baseline. And she didn't noticed the difference not until the match has ended and pondered upon the mystery of their successful doubles.

It kind of peeved, more of curiosity really, her a little how she haven't shown anything special beyond regular basic shots. Aside from noticing how she always used a similar ball toss the entire game whether she chose to serve top spins, flats or slices, making it rather difficult to read her, her serves were nothing that spectacular at all too. Anyway, she was probably a master of the basics or was reserving something more and wasn't laying all her cards yet. Still she can't deny how exceptional her grasp of mastery over them. She swore that that alone was in a caliber on its own.

And then there's their defeated opponents. She swiveled her gaze on them who were currently on their knees, sweating like they've ran a marathon instead and gasping back air from having to run and chase balls they were never been able to return or if they did, it didn't manage to cross the net.

She'll give them a _little_ credit. Thanks to that sexist mockery that led into a challenge over a set, she had accomplished an acceptable round of _light_ warm-up enough to feel her muscles starting to coil and pump. Although if she would be honest, it was still rather lacking her normal amount of warm-up because this hardly made her sweat, really.

Still, it was pitiful how miserable they've become after this game. They tried to fight back until the end even at the face of an unparalleled score. And she was sure they've played at their best as well based on those heavy returns, frustrated faces and display of vulgarities when they're unable to return a shot. All these people know was to talk big. They weren't even worth a _second_ of her time with their poor skill set.

Golden met hazel brown in its brevity.

But this girl, she'll acknowledge.

Solange stick out a pale hand towards the younger girl, gesturing for a handshake.

This person was different- her scent and the aura reeking from her told Solange that she wasn't any ordinary player that can be easily judged by a single game. Hardly, on that ten minutes. There had always been a great disparity between the scent of the strong and the weak. With this girl, all she can smell was the scent of a sleeping beast, ready to pounce and unveil her claws any time.

The shorter girl slowly blinked at the offered hand before a conceited smirk painted her dainty lips. She tugged the brim of her cap further down, shielding her eyes, but the smirk on her face never left, "You're still not good enough _._ " She declared in arrogance, intentionally ignoring the offered handshake, and left, walking passed Solange towards one of the benches where she'd last left her tennis bag. She easily hoisted the item to one shoulder, not once looking back at the Swiss woman- she recognized the familiar Swiss German accent- before sauntering away for the court's exit point.

Solange bit her lower lip, fighting the urge to laugh. Oh how she loved pompous attitudes! Being cheeky was _okay_ in her dictionary too.

"Hey! What's your name?" There was a running doubt in her mind if the unnamed girl would be willing to give her name so easily. After turning down the handshake, she can confidently conclude that the girl wasn't the friendliest lot. Either way, if she can't have her name just like what she expects of her, she will just have to hunt her down tomorrow and the rest of the days after that if needed. She won't return to her country empty-handed without knowing that girl's name.

Surprisingly, the unnamed girl stopped on her tracks just before she reached the exit. She didn't turned but at least left her name, "Ryoma Echizen."

Solange paused, blinking at familiarity of the name. She swore she'd heard of it before. But where? Where did she heard it?

" _ **Hey Solange! Have you heard?"**_

 _ **Solange lifted her gaze from her stimulation game, albeit a bit out of it as her focus remained entirely in her game, "…About what? I'm not hearing anything I don't need as of the moment."**_

"… _ **I really hate that side of you." A pause, "Echizen's daughter's been the highlight of the news recently."**_

" _ **Nanjiro Echizen? That sensational Japanese tennis player?"**_

" _ **Why of course you knew. I tend to forget about your maniacal obsession for strong tennis players. History included." Another pause, "You should have heard about his son as well. Roger played against him at the ATP World Tour Masters 1000."**_

"… _ **Yes… More for me to beat."**_

 _ **A laugh, "You're crazy! Anyway, the focus of the media seemed to incline towards the sister now. Haven't actually seen any of her games but sources tells me she's good. Plus she's in the women's league too."**_

"… _ **Beats me. I don't want to be disappointed. Again."**_

" _ **Hey, cut that out! You haven't even seen this kid. Give her a break will ya?! Her name's Ryoma Echizen. Don't you forget it..."**_

Her eyes slowly widened when realization dawned into her, ' _Did she just say her name was Ryoma Echizen? That Ryoma Echizen?_ ' A smile lit in her face; her eyes shimmered aflame. ' _So this explains why she's good._ '

"I'm Solange Federer." A notable number of eyes- if not all, widened in recognition of the famous name. Some exchanged shocked gasps and looks of incredulity at the sudden appearance of the woman who stood at the top during the WTA Premiers last season. Who knew that a tennis superstar- a _Federer_ of all people, would chose a shabby rundown neighborhood tennis court of all places to play?

On the other hand, the two losers who dared messed with the top dog of the women's tennis league had their jaws slackened in disbelief at the astonishing revelation- a stupefied look on their faces, it was almost comical.

The person in question though never bothered acknowledging the little bout of fame as her eyes were solely trained at the capped girl.

"Let's meet again, Ryoma."

 _As long as they play tennis, their paths will inevitably crossed one day._

' _I'll wait for you on official courts, Ryoma Echizen._ '

After that encounter, Solange left for her country and competed in various tournaments and premiers. Ryoma, on the other hand, competed for another Junior Tournament and won yet again, sealing her fourth win. That same year, she and her half-brother, Ryoga flew to Australia to participate for the Australian Open as a doubles pair and won the championships by a huge landslide. The media had a massive field day that day, and the news was all over the headlines that it lasted for a week.

They didn't meet for another year, not until the Summer Olympics that year's month of June which was held in Brazil. They stumbled on each other during the opening ceremony, although Ryoma doesn't appear to remember who Solange was or was just feigning not to know her when she approached her. It sure hit a nerve but Solange knew she had to be at least patient about this.

Solange immediately inquired Ryoma's participation, a bit at her toes at the anticipation that the younger girl will affirm her Olympic participation. But she only received a disappointing _no_ and the information that it was the brother who was competing instead. This slightly upset Solange since she absolutely wanted to play against Ryoma in an official match.

Still not willing to be denied after the year and a half since they last met, she proposed to have practice games every day, carefully citing on the benefits for both sides specifically Ryoma's since she appeared half-convinced or was she just unimpressed _again_? Needless to say, she pressed this offer to her very firmly that Ryoma had no room to decline so she agreed under the condition that the loser pays for a meal- and that she gets a can of Ponta for every match.

Oh how she regretted proposing that.

She did _mildly_ worry for the condition of her wallet in the next few days. Only _mildly_. She was rich enough to not worry about things like her pocket money when she can just swipe the bill clear with her exclusive black card.

But what she couldn't completely understand was how a petite girl like Ryoma eat like a boy stuck in the peak of his puberty. She eats like a buffoon… _no_ …probably a cow would cut it. Just how could such a tiny body need all those food for?

Solange, on the other hand, strictly regulates her meals, consuming only what she needed as she was under strict dietary plan (and has to maintain an acceptable weight and slim built) and in which Ryoma would put as women's shameful diets wherein a woman forcibly starve herself just to have a slim bombshell figure. She would then sourly retaliate that her reasons were neither of whatever gibberish things she was thinking, and Ryoma would just carelessly shrugged, munching on one burger after another in rapid succession, commenting lightly on how her burger's portion has lesser tomatoes and pickles than the previous one.

Sometimes however, she's forced to cheat whenever the cocky brat tosses a greasy patty burger at her as a _reward_ for keeping her entertained- She tried not to think about it too much really. She should exercise her saint-like patience at all times no matter how cheeky of a brat this child was.

But wallet aside, she was truly grateful for her practice matches with Ryoma. It helped her fully conditioned her body for the tournament a lot more than she can initially achieved by training in the facility by herself. She can also practice and polished her special techniques without worrying of being too powerful or overwhelming for her opponent because Ryoma would undoubtedly intercept her no matter what ball or plethora of different techniques she threw in and still would give her a satisfying match worthy of patiently awaiting for this critical moment. All those games that would have lasted a lifetime against worthless players haven't been a complete waste after all.

Before the day of the Olympic semi-finals, they've tied to fifteen games all but Solange had her doubts about Ryoma not showing her full potential yet.

The only special move she'd ever shown her was her signature Twist Serve- Nothing else. Although she had pushed her to the limits to gauge out any other techniques, Ryoma only produced a special drive which she only used _once_ the entire succession of thirty games they've played.

She didn't know if Ryoma was mocking her or was just playing around.

But she knew one thing.

Ryoma was clearly in a different league than the rest of the players she'd played against in the past.

The kid was insanely strong even with that boring methodical limited-to-basics playing style. But she got a feeling that she was something else entirely behind that front she was currently letting her see. It was like a calm before a storm. A foreboding feeling, she couldn't exactly wrap around her finger.

It gave her chills with every exchange; her adrenalin was pulsating and pumping with every blow. She never felt the same way playing against others. This thrill… this anticipation…this mad sense of euphoria, was all new to her. She had almost forgotten this burn settling in her chest whenever she's driven to the edge. The only one who had successfully made her feel this way was her brother- The very person who pulled her into this mad world of tennis.

After then, she knew. Ryoma was the person she was waiting for all along. She was her destined rival.

Ryoga Echizen ended up winning the men's singles, bagging up the Gold for the US, while Solange Federer won the women's singles for her home country, Switzerland.

While Ryoga was away busy entertaining the crowd of voracious reporters and the paparazzi (with an amused Ryoma watching in the background), Solange snatched up the younger Echizen to a less populated area and persuaded her to play for the French Open the following year where she'll be competing as well.

Ryoma gave her a raised brow, clearly unimpressed again but said nothing. She smiled though, and walked away the same time the camera lights went flashing, momentarily blinding Solange and leaving her for the mercy of those notorious reporters.

They were a handful alright! How dared she ditched and openly fed her to these wolves?

But setting her budding irritation aside, she was excited for next year knowing her rival was finally competing. After all, an official game was still different no matter how many matches they've played. Oh how she'll finally put a conclusion to their scores to 16-15 and make sure Ryoma wouldn't clinch another frustrating win from her again.

To say they've become friends was only mildly putting it. Or probably it was just Solange who likes to think that they've become one. At least….after all those last night trips to a local fast food chain for greasy patties and sugary sodas, she thought they finally did.

They've exchanged emails during the Olympic season- Under the strict agreement to never send the younger girl a text since she was too lazy to read and reply back and call only if necessary- Solange barely agreed, and had been in touched since then despite the expensive international phone calls that's been cutting down most of Solange's paychecks.

Although she was used to Ryoma's lack of interest to mobile phones and emailing, she still can't believe one can harbor such animosity to such lengths for the technological advancement.

Once she'd sent her a text, just to know if she'll reply or not despite the aforementioned warning, but never got a reply. Not even an acknowledgment.

On another occasion, she asked her if she gives the same cold treatment towards her friends and what did she said? ' _You don't need to worry. I only have five numbers in my contacts. My family, my bestfriend and you._ ' She seriously feared for this child's future. The kid needs serious social education and intrapersonal skills as far as she's concerned.

Although she must admit that she herself doesn't understand the allure most people see on smart phones, she at least thinks Ryoma's attitude towards them were _abnormal_.

It was a long process- a seriously steep one- but she finally persuaded Ryoma to at least read the text sent to her even if she's not willing to reply. For a person like Ryoma, that was a _huge_ progress. Ryoma personally didn't like the slightest changes but she yielded or at least Solange thinks that the younger girl was finally getting softer on her.

When they met during the Open's semi-finals- naturally being the top-seeds in the Open granted them immediate spots passed the preliminaries, Ryoma didn't act like she doesn't know her anymore. No more subtle skew of the brow and amused smirks, although her greetings proved to have no likely improvements at all. It's a serious waste of the younger girl's pretty face if she only planned to give blank looks her entire life.

This however doesn't change anything. Their relationship might have escalated from mere acquaintances into something mutual like friends with a common bond over tennis for the past year, however once they stepped in the courts, they were enemies trying to covet a ticket to the Grand Slams.

Solange entered the clay court, shielding her eyes from the sun with her free hand. It was finally the day. A big smile played on her dainty lips as she waited for Ryoma to make her entrance. She glanced over to the spectator stands and saw her older brother, Roger sitting on the first rows alongside with their father.

She'll make them proud and win this. That goal of hers from back then never changed and she's all too willing to make it happen this time.

However, that day of the finals for the French Open women singles division, Ryoma Echizen failed to appear.

* * *

 _[11 months later]_

If there was a word to describe where she was now, it was _foreign_.

Standing in the alleyway of the busy international airport, all she could hear was foreign tongues speaking their native language. She clasped her hand firmly on her luggage, determined to mill out of the crowd as soon as possible.

How strange it was hearing Japanese instead. Although they were taught and encouraged to exercise the language inside their home, it was still a bit difficult to get used to.

" **Hey wait up, Ryo! You're walking too fast!** " coming to a halt, Ryoma whipped her head towards a blonde boy who was catching up to her from a fair distance.

When he was just a step behind her, he gave her a dirty look, " **For someone who walks on heels, you make these loafers look shameful to wear.** " He lifted his branded shoes to compare to Ryoma's three-inch stilettos. " **Is it a model thing?** " he pressed in lightly, making it come off as a joke.

Ryoma gave him a withering glance but said nothing. Her childhood friend, Kevin Smith was certainly adopting the male members of the Echizen family's attitude. Heck, he can passed as one right now.

" **Oh yeah Ryo…are you sure no one will recognize your face? You're a hotshot model after all.** "

" **It doesn't matter if they recognize me or not. If it comes to that, I trust you to run, Kev.** " An amused smirk curled on Ryoma's lips, eyes glinting with full of mischievous implications. Kevin snorted, getting used to Ryoma's nonchalance about popularity and fans.

Ten months ago, Ryoma was offered to model for an ad of a popular clothing line back in the States. To say it was successful was an understatement. The ad became really huge and soon, Ryoma was asked to model for bigger projects and eventually led to signing up a contract with many clothing brands and magazines. Since then, his bestfriend's life changed.

Well, not all of _it_ changed.

Ryoma stayed the same even as popularity surged in.

The only thing that concerned him was his best friend's indifference towards tennis. She never entered any competition or tournaments after what happened a year ago. Although when he asked her to play with him, she'd unspokenly comply under the- almost incessant- condition that the loser pays the meal.

Seriously, the only thing that might never change in her is her endless penchant for food. Those were unparalleled. Not even he or Ryoga could compete side by side against her in an eat-all-you-can. Her personality haven't changed at all too if not a little quiet now.

Her appearance, on the other hand, was an entirely different story.

To say she bloomed was a bit mild… She was beautiful to begin with. He even had a crush on her when they were little but it died out since he'd only see her like a sister and nothing else.

One Nanjirou Echizen had it rough though. Her overprotective kind of a father had the trouble warding off his daughter's relentless suitors ever since first grade. Even Ryoga had to join in guarding- more like _barricading_ \- his little sister away from local perverts (and pedophiles).

It was only Ryoma who stayed unfazed and clearly disinterested by the affections thrown to her and thought her father and brother were ridiculously dramatizing things over nothing.

It made Kevin smiled a bit from the memory. He can trust Ryoma to take care of herself. He personally lost count on how many times had she outsmarted her abductors alone, eventually turning them to the police without them even noticing.

" **Oh I trust you not to get mobbed by your fans. You've always had this peculiar talent of hiding in places where no one can find you anyway.** " He threw back sarcastically.

He mildly remembered never to ask Ryoma for a game of hide-and-seek ever again. He almost ran to the police the moment he realized he couldn't find her anywhere after a whole day of searching the whole neighborhood. _Twice_. Those were not fond memories to remember.

Ryoma smiled in recollection of a memory from long ago. Her quirks back then were in their prime condition, and it's a bit amusing to give Kev a heart attack once in a while. " **You're being ridiculous, Kev.** " Kevin laughed good-naturedly.

They've reached the cab stop and he immediately hailed one. The airport attendant helped them load their luggage in the trunk, easily tucking the two giant suitcases in. With their luggage safely tucked in the trunk, they climbed in the back seats where they were greeted by a kind-looking middle-aged man.

His features were clearly Asian, with dark hair and eyes, only aged with few crow feet on both of the corners of his eyes and prominent laugh lines on his slightly sagging skin. They returned the greeting politely, remembering to switched back to Japanese.

"Where shall I drop the both of you?" Kevin pulled out a piece of paper from the side pocket of his pants and showed the written address to the driver.

Ryoma rested her back against the leather seats, legs crossed over the other and an arm draped on the side window's arm rest. She stared at the view from outside the tinted window, finding everything too foreign in her eyes. Even the very bump on the road would probably be foreign to her.

She pressed her lips together in a tight line. She still has this unsettling feeling about moving to her old man's homeland but she'll try to be a little optimistic for her parents. Moving might be a rough thing but it won't probably turn out bad.

* * *

3/2/2016


	2. moving out

**reedit:** 12/19/2016

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own The Prince of Tennis and The New Prince of Tennis. Also, mentions of real tennis players and their fictional profiles are not meant to alter or tarnish their glorious records.

* * *

 _chapter two: moving out_

"You sure everything you need is ready, Ryoma?" Her mother asked for the last time that day just before she head for the door which led to the courtyard.

She slowly nodded, scooping their family Himalayan cat, Karupin in her arms and placing him inside the pet carrier.

Ryoma was genuinely pleased to know that the school dormitory she'll be moving to allowed pets provided that they don't loiter carelessly in the campus and disturb and cause trouble to any of her dorm mates. But breaking that particular policy was the least of her worries. Her Karupin was a smart cat. She knew he would understand and behave himself if breaking such rule will mean parting with her for an indefinite period of time.

Rinko Echizen smiled and reached out to her daughter, embracing her in her arms. Ryoma stiffened at the sudden touch but eventually eases and leaned on the crook of her mother's neck. "Take care, Ryoma." Rinko muttered on her hair, giving one last squeeze around her daughter's torso before releasing her.

Her Ryoma grew up as a fine, resilient beautiful woman over the years. Somehow her husband's stubborn and extremely laidback personality and her responsible and gentle-to-her-family personality fruited to something wonderful. Ryoga had been a gift to them (despite not sharing her blood, she deeply considered him as her own son), the same as Ryoma when she was born. Having two wonderful children was fulfilling yet seeing them leaving the house was a bit lonely.

Well…it's not like they're leaving her for good. That was reserved for when her children marries to form their own families and she hoped it wouldn't be anytime sooner. It's just that the house will be a little quiet now because the both of them are attending boarding schools. In their defense though, she was the one who recommended those schools. And they were especially good schools too. For the sake of their future, a good education was and will always be the best foundation needed by all children and she will readily provide that to them.

"It's okay, mom. I will be _fine_." Ryoma told her. But Rinko knew better than to believe it. Her daughter can be a conniving liar if she wanted to be. And you wouldn't be able to tell the difference unless you've been there beside her and saw it all happening. Not only can she make others believe it, she can also convince herself into believing her lies.

"Come on, chibisuke. Oyaji's already at the car." Ryoga called, cutting short the mother and daughter moments between them. He opened the door with the intention of retrieving his little sister but stopped on his tracks when he saw Ryoma absorbed in a hushed conversation with their mother.

Rinko noticed his presence and with raised arms, reckoned him to come close and when he did, she pulled him in her arms and gave him a tight motherly squeeze just around the torso as well and a mild lecture about not to bring home a potential wife yet. But a girlfriend who's wife material would do. ' _Doesn't that mean the same thing?_ ' Ryoga mused, a deep throaty laugh escaping from his lips. "Well, I believe chibisuke needs that warning more than I do, mom." He gave off lightly, sparing a glance at his younger sister with a teasing grin full of implications. She returned it with a dirty wry look.

Rinko released her son off her grasp and stifled a soft laugh. She waved her hand dismissively, turning to her youngest, "Oh Ryoma's a different case. I expect you to bring home a _good_ boyfriend, dear."

Ryoma kept a hard face, not liking where the conversation was heading to, but mused a little on what her mother meant by a _good_ boyfriend. Nothing's been considered _good_ enough in Rinko Echizen's critical eyes and the last boy who professed his undying (more like _neurotic_ ) love for her had the chance of meeting a devil incarnated Rinko and go one-on-one with her venom-spitting interrogations and _enlightening_ therapy sessions. Pray tell what those therapy sessions were, but it seemed _drastic_ enough that the boy never walked to their door again. Her father seemed pleased after that too. He was probably glad that his wife personally did the honors of abdicating her relentless suitor.

"Don't worry about your father and brother, it's perfectly fine with me and they know not to dare refute me, right Ryoga?" The matriarch of the Echizen household turned to its eldest son with a dangerous conniving smile heavily concealed as a pious kind, one that even their father doesn't dare to cross with.

Ryoga gulped, suddenly feeling his palms getting wet. He turned to Ryoma for any help but saw her with a bored look and knew right away that she's not helping him with anything. ' _Never mind what I said. Mom's difficult when it comes to chibisuke. But still, it doesn't mean they have the right to date my little sister behind my back, dammit!_ ' He grabbed Ryoma's hand and pulled her with him towards the door, "I think I heard oyaji calling for us now, chibisuke. We got to go. Bye mom!" he said in quickly, waving at their mother, before dragging the apathetic-looking Ryoma with him to the car.

Rinko stared at her children's retreating figure with an amused look and when they were gone out of sight, she finally gave off a chuckle. Ryoga was too obvious for his own good. And of course, Ryoma's just not interested in anything. It's like seeing a younger version of her and her husband in them. Only more mature in Ryoga's part. Nanjirou's a lost cause and it was a dismaying fact that everyone in the household won't even deny.

Her face fell a bit, a weary sigh escaping her lips. In truth, she was indeed worried for her daughter. She noticed that Ryoma didn't bring her tennis gear with her; every tennis equipment she'd owned- from her priced possession rackets to various high-quality expensive brand of grip tapes, was left in the sanctuary of her room with no certainty of ever using. She still refuses to play doesn't she?

It's but a miracle that Ryoma still chooses to live a social life although in this case, she left the tennis world she truly loved and ventured another interest as a model. Although it pleases her to see her daughter making a living apart from tennis- not that she minded Ryoma's enthusiasm towards the sport, it's still heart-wrenching to see Ryoma completely missing the thrill and exhilaration of the game that was evidently reflected in her eyes even if she tried to keep it. Her husband, Ryoga and even Kevin, Ryoma's childhood friend, noticed it too but chose not to say anything.

Her emotions were fragile at this point, and a poorly concealed front masked it away, trying to forget the pain and the loss.

She and Nanjirou had talked about this and decided after some sorting, that they'll be moving to her husband's home country. Perhaps time would heal Ryoma and probably a new school and a new set of people would help her.

"You're not thinking of getting a boyfriend are you?" Ryoga pressed, the edge in his voice thick with implications. Her nose wrinkled visibly at the preposterous idea. Not that she's surprised.

Ryoma had it all memorized down to her brother's incongruous way of thinking through things sometimes. It didn't need a smartass to know what he was edging to anyway. She can't help but wonder sometimes if her brother and old man belonged to a single-celled thinking specie disguised in human's clothing.

"No. I came there to learn, aniki." She shot back with enough sarcasm at the humorless statement much to his chagrin.

"Don't do reverse-psychology on me, chibisuke." He grumbled, "I feel more at ease if Kev was entering with you."

Despite coming to Japan with Ryoma, Kevin just stayed over for a short vacation- mostly touring distinct hotspots, visiting random tennis courts and gobbling some local cuisines while dragging his unwilling bestfriend, before flying back to the States.

That short vacation was rough on her though. His incessant activities had greatly wore down Ryoma by the fifth day, but when she learned that her favorite cold drink, Ponta, was also accessible in this country, her sluggish state immediately seeped away in an instant. Of course, Kevin had to pay for _every_ single purchase.

While it's a highly sensitive matter that Kevin's father, George Smith, had forcibly took his only son, who's only a year old that time, away from his mother and deplorably abused him, not only physically and verbally but also psychologically, the case was finally settled by the highly-demanded lawyer now judge, Rinko Echizen as the presider and the American court, passing the verdict that the older Smith was sentenced for lifetime detainment and Kevin's custody- originally under the Echizen's, would be handed over to his birth mother.

They both understand that it was a big thing for the young blond now that he's finally allowed to live with his biological mother whom he wasn't allowed to see or communicate with for years. They didn't think that hindering his happiness by voicing out their thoughts about being separated was necessary.

This was especially for Ryoma since she and Kevin grew up together and was much closer. Although she must (stubbornly) admit that she do miss his company. He was her bestfriend after all- who's almost like her second ( _younger_ , because she gets to _lord_ over him being the elder sister) brother rather than just a friend.

They did agree to keep in contact with each other and knowing Ryoma and her stubborn-to-a-fault intolerance towards any form of communication that heavily involved writing, Kevin had to invest on expensive international calls for her sake which will inevitably touch his allowance so he'd been thinking of ways to earn money these days. Fortunately, they came to a truce about web calls instead if international calls won't be a frequent thing. Kevin now thinks Ryoma had a heart again and was seeing the light.

"In which, he won't." She retorted, a deadpanned expression painting her face. "You don't need to be worried about me. If anything, you should be more worried about yourself, aniki. Your reputation to girls will be in serious danger if they get a wind of this sis-con hobby of yours." Ryoga gave her a wry look, clearly thinking of a comeback but chose not to since he knew Ryoma was right despite the direct insult. It pains him to know that she's always right.

He scoffed, leaning back on the leather seat and finding it much more comfortable than his initial position. "Cut me out some slack. I was the caring sibling between us you know. And its _benevolence_ , not some disgusting complex."

"But the immature one despite being the eldest unfortunately." She drawled, and as if it wasn't enough blow (in the gut), she added, "Hardly matter whatever fancy vocabs you used. You're still one."

It was then when Ryoga finally decided that his little sister threw better argument than him and knew how to peg his buttons in all the right places to his eventual demise. He knew he was fighting a losing battle but he wasn't backing down. Not one bit, dammit.

"But it sure sucks to over think sometimes. Makes you grow wrinkles at a young age."

"Correct me if I'm not getting my facts right but I think the one who over thinks things was you, aniki." Ryoga felt his good eye twitching dangerously… That sure hit a nerve.

"Oh come on kids, I had it with your arguments!" both whipped their heads towards the visage of their respectable _ahem_ father, who had the wheels in his care. A drag of cancer stick hung on his mouth, the fumes of burnt ash slowly evaporating in the air.

Ryoma slightly cringed at the sight. She never liked seeing her father smoking and the aversion wasn't exactly a secret between them either.

"I'll gladly shut up if you kindly throw that away, oyaji." Ryoma commented dryly, brows furrowing to a frown and her nose visibly wrinkling at the smell.

Nanjirou laughed, choking out the drag from his lips and throwing it out of the window. It's to his comical relief whenever Ryoma voices her annoyance towards his unlikely habit. Rinko hadn't minded it at all but Ryoma had grown sensitive over health these days, it's amusing.

"Now, now, bishoujo…Ryoga's right. No boyfriends alright?" Oh how she wanted to bash her head to some form of a tree. Wasn't the boyfriend thing over by now? Seriously, what's with this delusional conclusion that she's even the slightest interested towards the opposite sex?

She knew he was teasing her, expecting a funny reaction that'll have him amused for the rest of the drive, but she knew better than to give in right away. She'd grown tired hearing this bout of argument and wanted to end it. _Fast_.

"Boyfriend _s_? Then a boyfriend will have to do, I suppose?" She challenged, knowing full well that they'll take in the bait. And they did. ' _Fools._ '

"You wouldn't dare..." the both of them hissed, clearly mortified by the idea. Ryoma smirked triumphantly, knowing she'd won this.

Nanjirou awkwardly cleared up his throat, embarrassed by his slip up that led to this. "Boyfriend then. No boyfriend or boyfriend _s_ for that matter young lady, understood?" He gave her a stern look over the mirror—one that seemed respectable despite his normally shameless (and perverted) character.

"That was not my intention in the first place. If you've been paying close attention, I never said I'll have one. And so we won't be talking about this again, I suppose?" She chirped, giving a dark smile, full of malice and spite- one that can make the matriarch of the household proud.

The two men of the Echizen family felt a chill down to their spines and cowered in fear, almost afraid for their lives. They swore Ryoma was just like Rinko in a _lot_ of ways.

They both nodded sourly, finally conceding. ' _Finally some peace._ ' She shifted her weight to a comfortable position against the leather seat and closed her eyes, deciding to sleep off the rest of the journey.

It's a great feeling to win over them even if it wasn't about tennis. She should consider doing this more often. Inner sadism be damned.

Seeing that the lone member of the fairer sex decided to escape reality by napping, the atmosphere immediately turned to a heavy silence between the two men. While his father continued driving in silence, Ryoga turned to his unsuspected sister. His brows were notably furrowing in a charade of mixed emotions. Disappointment, anger and guilt- as if he was trying to ward off a particular memory like it was a bad dream.

The painful silence would have stalled forever, which would have been better, if he had not spoken up. The tone of his voice was nowhere near calm or joking like his usual carefree self, and without thinking he had dropped the cold truth.

"She doesn't think she'll need to play tennis again. I know it's been difficult to her. But will abandoning tennis, which she loved so much, make her feel happy? Sometimes I can't bring myself to look at her anymore and see that tortured look in her eyes every single time. It makes me realize how feasibly worthless and a failure am I as _her_ brother." He curled his hand to a tight ball; his knuckles turning white underneath the membrane of his skin- his teeth clenched, gritting together.

It was uncharacteristic of him to easily break down like this. On any normal day, he would be laughing- being cocky, taunting his opponents and wiping them off the court with his signature perma-smirk. But he knew…

"Stop blaming yourself for what happened Ryoga. She'll overcome it. Ryoma's strong. And we've been searching, your mother and I. It's only a matter of time before we find someone." That kind of reassured Ryoga a bit, knowing that her sister won't be a lost case for long.

What had happened last French Open with Ryoma bailing out all of a sudden, leaving everyone in shock upon the announcement of the referee and the tennis association officials currently present in the match, was beyond any of their expectations.

Because of _that_ , she had to give up everything.

He knew his sister didn't like to bail out on such an important match. She wanted to head on to the championships and win it all together and proceed to the next month where she shall challenge Wimbledon.

However given the only option she had, she thus resigned from the match.

After that, she didn't do as much as hold a racket again or step on any court, not even the one they owned in their backyard. She never entered any tournament and had eventually announced her retirement from the pro world despite the protests of the masses. She tolerated playing with them though- he, their father and Kevin, on an occasional basis, but never once initiated a match on her own accord unlike before. Tennis was probably a mediocre thing for her now, but the way her eyes lit up at the every sound of the ball told him otherwise. She still loves it. She just won't let herself play.

Perhaps their moving was a good choice to make. It'll probably do her good if anything. He just hoped this would end up as the right thing for her, and perhaps he'll get to see her old self back again.

* * *

3/6/2016


	3. Tenryujin academy

**note one:** Many thanks for all those who reviewed, favorite and subscribed! You guys fueled me to keep on writing.  
 _ **kim123kn** \- _ Thank you for giving this story a shot! I'm glad you somehow saw my femRyoma familiar. Don't worry, I'm actually planning to portray her as a _less_ perfect person (although I won't deny her tennis prowess). I'm only hoping I'm doing a good job on that because I really enjoy imploring her character as I write. :)  
 _ **ScarletRoofs**_ \- I'm happy you find Solange likable. I love her too, and you'll be seeing more of her in the future.  
I'm actually dropping a _few_ hints on why she quit but they are subtly written. XD Forgive me for that. Anyway, here's _**Chapter three**_. I ended up ranting too much (T_T) but I hope I get the introductions done before I start introducing more characters!

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own The Prince of Tennis and The New Prince of Tennis. Also, mentions of real tennis players and their fictional profiles are not meant to alter or tarnish their glorious records.

* * *

 _chapter three: Tenryujin academy_

Walking in slow yet graceful strides, every step taken with her flattering kitten heels clicking, Ryoma finally entered the official grounds of Tenryujin Academy.

She whistled in awe, golden eyes taking a good few seconds to marvel on the sheer colossal size of her new school alone. This place was _huge_. And here she thought her old school in America was a mammoth enough in itself; she'd spoken and judged too soon. This was supposed to be the _best_ school in Tokyo according to her mother—and seeing it for the first time, she couldn't agree more.

As her eyes roved over, she had noticed that the courtyard was empty. Not a single soul strayed on the grounds; although when she stopped and listened for a bit, she can faintly picked up the sound of chirping birds and the sound of flowing water somewhere—both a positive sign of life—breaking the deafening silence. She quickly assumed that everyone were in their respective classes by now, explaining the uncharacteristic lack of human presence in such a broad daylight.

Ryoma turned to the map on her hand which was given by the overly nice guard at the front gates with the sincere intention of being of help to her. Although it still muses her how the instructions were painstakingly written (in the most legible penmanship possibly done by those big, chunky fingers of his that could probably break the pen instead), she would still argue that the task he seemed to be taking so determinately was cumbersome enough.

Frankly enough if you asked her, she'd say the extra effort was absolutely unnecessary. Really…if she had not felt so guilty and rude for turning down another offer (his first offer was to escort her in), then this bout would have been over sooner. In the end, she conceded in taking the paper and let him do his job of delivering the rest of her heavy belongings to the dorm—the carrier which houses her beloved feline included—while she goes off and searched for the admission office to claim her important documents.

Half an hour later, after walking the ridiculously _long_ hallways of Tenryujin, she finally found herself standing at the giant double doors of her appointed destination.

Ryoma glared at the doors for the longest time as if her anger would miraculously dissipate by itself by boring holes on the cold innocent object. ' _Just who in their right minds had the ridiculous idea of deciding a need for such long and tortuous hallways for?_ 'She thought with unbridled contempt, glancing back at the _glittering_ white corridor she just passed by which seemed to be mocking her.

The walk from the building's entrance to the school office had proven be to a difficult task despite having a map as a guide. It wasn't even her fault that her new school seemed to sardonically enjoy flaunting its riches. It then dawned to her that she wouldn't have the same ardent relationship with the hallways for the entirety of her stay here. And her feelings won't be changing any time soon. ' _Stupid, money-flaunting school._ '

Dismissing her irritation aside—not that she was in any position to complain about it—she knocked on the door twice before a ' _Come on in_ ' bade her permission to enter. Ryoma held the brass handles of the giant doors, pushed them and stepped into the dimly lit room where all the curtains were rolled down, daring no sunlight to peak right through the blinds, and only a hanging crystal-studded filigreed chandelier to illuminate the room. The colors of the room were bland, almost neutral from the walls up to the ceiling. The only color it gave amidst the washout selection was the vibrant umber carpet, closer to heartily orange and two to three shades lighter than flaming red, and the pots of varying sizes of bonsais, the earthly green familiar and warm to the eyes, which decorated the room. She was immediately greeted by an amiable-looking woman whom she assumed to be the secretary.

The older woman was distinctively petite—normal for most Asians—with curly bob-cut hair kept neat and tucked behind her ears and dark brown eyes. She wore her clothes smartly, choosing a dark blue pencil-cut skirt, a white top underneath an oversized blazer, and a brass string belt, and flesh-colored pumps. She gave Ryoma a warm smile, "May I help you with anything?" she asked.

"I'm the transfer student. Echizen Ryoma." She remembered to correct herself in introducing her name, opting to say her last name first like how the locals practiced them. And of course, she played her tongue for the perfect Eastern accent. She intended to let the older woman know that she was well acquainted and comfortable with the language despite being a dual-citizen (yet still a Japanese native) who had spent her whole life living in a foreign country.

The older of the two seemed to realize something—the surprise was evident in her face—but didn't press on to matter, and instead excused her behavior with a poorly produced cough, embarrassed by being distracted, before continuing, "Ah yes. I heard of your transfer from the principal, Echizen- _san_."

She offered her a seat and when settled, had smoothly produced a manila envelope from her desk, laying it in front of her to have each and every bit of it scrutinized. "The principal is currently away and is unfortunately not able to orient you personally but I have all the things you needed here." She unsealed the envelope with ease, bringing out Ryoma's school transfer papers and other official documents and neatly setting them on the glass table.

Thrusting one paper towards her, she continued, "Here's your timetable. Although you're entering as a freshman this year, due to your exemplary performance reflected in your previous transcript records, it has been decided that you can skipped a few subjects from your grade and will be taking its advance classes together with the higher years. Your homeroom will still be with the first year, Class 1-A. Regular classes are from Mondays to Fridays, starting at 8 in the morning until 5 in the afternoon. Since you only arrived today, you may join in the classes the first day next week." Ryoma nodded and was a bit grateful not to go to class soon after she'd moved in. It was Friday but only half the day was over; the extra hours where she can adjust to the new environment (and idly lazed) were definitely much obliged.

"We also adopted an honors program here in Tenryujin. The program's goal was to help prepare the students for college or their future endeavors and although participation is not mandatory, we encourage everyone to at least partake in the said program. However with that said, a student can only take a maximum of three honor classes until they graduate. If you're interested, I've included the details about the program inside this folder as well as an application form. You can pass the accomplished form to either me or to the academic advisor, Narai Ichino-san from our faculty so that we can fix your schedule and have it finalized."

' _Well that was interesting. I suppose this is what mom meant about Tenryujin._ ' She thought, thinking way back months ago when her mother talked to her about her enrolment to a top escalator school in Tokyo to match her school program in America. It was understandable how a highly-respected lawyer turned court judge such as her mother invested great importance to the education of her children and wouldn't go any less than what met or exceeded her own standards. It was to Rinko's _huge_ relief that both of them inherited her intelligence (not genetically for Ryoga's case but Rinko liked to think it was due to her _brilliant_ teachings and tutelage that her son was what he was now) and not her husband's. She didn't need another scatterbrain idiot in the household beside Nanjiro.

"Club meetings are scheduled Wednesdays and Fridays but it still depends on the clubs on how regular their activities are, however permitted extension of extracurricular activities is only until 7 in the evening."

The older woman produced compiled sheets of paper and tapped a well-manicured finger to relay and stress her point, "Here are our lists of existing clubs. Every student is entitled to join at least two clubs provided their extracurricular will not affect their academic performance. Unfortunately since the term had started a month ago, almost every club had their fill of the maximum amount of quota. I've highlighted the remaining clubs that still has vacancy in their member lists, if you'll look at it." Ryoma took the papers and mused at the at least ten-page printed length.

' _Just how many clubs does this school have?_ ' She couldn't helped but asked silently.

She originally doesn't have plans on joining any clubs. If not for the ample credentials that can benefit her records for college admission, she wouldn't be willing. But knowing how delighted her mother would be if she took her studies more seriously now that she was in high school, she began thinking otherwise. She had initially planned to focus more on her academics—not that she's actually failing behind on her subjects, if she did then she won't be granted those advance classes—agreeing that her part-time modeling job was enough extracurricular that will take most of her weekend schedule. But perhaps joining a club that wasn't troublesome lest time and energy-consuming was okay. All for the sake of those credentials. And a consideration to her mother's feelings would she be willing.

"I've been informed of the current predicament of your modeling career and that it will require you to leave the campus most often during the weekends. The principal has already bade his permission, having talked to your parents about the matter beforehand, to let you continue your job and asked me to give you this special pass so that you can leave the campus anytime. However you are not allowed to leave during school hours. You won't be given curfew hours to return back to the dorms whenever you report to your job however you are liable for your own schedule." Ryoma noticed how she'd stressed on the last point, as if that's what matter the most in the end.

Of course, that was the other end of the deal. Having certain benefits demanded something in return. In all honesty, she wasn't worried about her job affecting her grades. She was confident that she can give them the results worthy of a scholarship student like what they asked of her. In fact, she had taken extra precautions beforehand and had talked to her current manager, Shibumi Nagare (since she switched countries, her original manager introduced her to her former colleague who shall managed Ryoma's career in her stead) about her priorities in school and the twenty-nine year old manager had promised to be flexible with her schedule as possible.

In truth though, she wanted to take a long break from her activities when she left America but since she was still bounded by a contract for another good five months before it expires, she had no choice but to comply. She'd taken the pass, a small silver platinum card, and relayed her show of gratitude.

Following that, the older woman finally showed a silver key clamp on a keychain—a tag with the number _3015_ engraved on its plate—and laid it in front of her. Ryoma easily recognized it to be her supposed dorm key.

Since Tenryujin was a dormitory school, students were expected to stay in dorms provided by the school for the expanse of their stay with a few exceptions of winter and summer breaks when they can go visit their families. She also heard that the school was especially strict when it came to visiting, that was probably the reason why she was given a pass to signify her exemption to the firm rule.

"I'll apologize in advance for the inconvenience the situation may ensue. There are unfortunately no available rooms left in any of the women's dormitories. A vacant can be produced however it will be officially available for the next term, the first week of August. We've sorted out the dilemma, and if it won't be much of a problem to dorm with the men's for the meantime, we've given you a single room suite in the West Dorm, room number 3015. Here is the master copy for your dorm room. In case of any incidents of lost keys though, you'll have to fill up a form stating that you lost it, and pay for a duplicate." Ryoma took the key anyway. Better have one than nothing. It was a temporary thing anyway.

But suppose her idiotic brother called and asked her about how she was faring in her new school, she'll just have to lie about this mayhap and entertain him with the thought that she's having little pink princess tea time with the native girls here instead. Who knows what drastic (and _extreme_ ) methods he'll resort to if he ever found out. She didn't want him travelling all the way here from the other end of Tokyo, accusing every single male specie he sees of _courting_ (and having impure motives on) his beloved sister behind his back. If that ever happened, she'll rather gladly burry herself ten feet under the ground rather than die of plausible embarrassment (enough to haunt her in a life time).

"Your uniforms are already in your room. Feel free to approach me if you find the sizes not in the exact fitting. We can send them for immediate alterations so that you can have them by the weekends."

She watched the secretary skimmed through the rest of the papers, skipping most of the paper works, until finally thrusting a map, presumably the campus map she'll found the most useful. "This might prove helpful when you walk around the campus. The map covers the location of the dorms too although visiting the opposite gender's dorms are greatly prohibited and penalized by sanction. Your dorm head will be briefing you with the rest of the dormitory rules. I've already informed him and he'll come visit your room later." Seeing that that was all of it for her part of orientation, the older woman stick out her hand, offering a handshake. "Please enjoy your stay here in Tenryujin, Ms. Echizen."

Ryoma took her hand and nodded, "Likewise." She eloquently returned.

"Ah forgive me. I still haven't properly introduced myself yet haven't I? I'm Kamioka Rize, the school secretary. If you needed further assistance, you're always welcome in my office."

"Yes. Thank you for your help, Ms. Kamioka." Gathering the important papers and dumping them inside the pouch of her drawstring bag, she got on her feet, left the office, dipping her head a bit before closing the door.

Meanwhile back inside, one Kamioka Rize can't stop herself from inwardly squealing. Forget that she's in her early thirties now. She can't believe she's seeing _the_ Ryoma Echizen.

She never expected the young girl to be such a charmer and a head-turner. Before this, she only heard of her from the students and seen her picture in numerous ads and billboards when she drive down the boulevard to the academy, only subtly interested at both times, but seeing the real American teen model in the flesh was a completely different experience.

And she's very polite and well-mannered _too_. It's but a pity that the principal was away today. Knowing him and his strange fondness to children even when he always had a stern expression in his face, he'll definitely take a liking to the young girl right away. But she knew it will be the students who'll have the bigger commotion about the arrival of the model. There'll surely be a field day the whole week from today. She shall wager her next paycheck on it.

* * *

Studying the school map carefully, she walked along the hallways, admiring the furnishing at the same time whilst still thinking that they were built unnecessarily too long to be considered accommodating. She had passed by the special rooms, mostly the different laboratory rooms—they were mostly occupied so she didn't dwell on them much and only passed by (catching a few surprised eyes in the process)—and the music rooms.

She thought it was ludicrous to have too many music rooms, only to realize that those weren't the music room she'd been thinking all the while. They were practice rooms for music aspirant students, each supplied with a grand piano and evenly soundproofed walls to block any sound coming from the inside so as not to disturb the others. Ryoma wasn't one with music knowledge technicalities but she thought the academy did live up to its name, owning the state of the art facilities for music aspirers.

She then turned to the staircase, going a floor up, and found the classrooms. The entire floor was mostly unoccupied so she'd taken a glimpse on the general structure of the classrooms by peeking through an empty room.

She peered through the small window of the door, ' _Not bad. It's a bit grand though._ ' The classrooms were huge and open. Individually lined chairs and tables faced the blackboard, all looked like they were made in the finest wood and metal material. The long windows were wide open, enabling the gentle breeze to enter in addition to the already installed ventilation compartments. And she could see that every room had the necessary equipment for teaching from the branded projectors to even a Mac desktop?

Really, a Mac in every room? Next thing she'll know, every student here doesn't use the conventional references taking the familiar form of printed paper bounded books anymore. Wasn't those tablet technology already adapted by some schools and universities in the West (luckily not in her old school yet) as a schematic for a more easily accessible way of teaching? She heard it was meant to replace the traditional books—and she'll say it now, she's not supportive of that idea at all.

She snorted. _Too ostentatious._

She walked past the other rooms—by what the brass coated class plate hung up from each of the rooms told her, these were the third year classrooms—before finally reaching another flight of stairs.

She stopped on her tracks and consulted the map, discerning her next destination. Apparently these stairs would lead her up to the rooftop. She then decided that if she wanted to see the general view of the school, going higher was better.

With the plan set on mind, she started climbing another flight of stairs, a steeper set of staircase leading to the roof, until she was met by the sight of double doors. She checked the handles. It wasn't locked—a bright note.

Pushing one of the doors open, a sudden onslaught of sunlight seeped through the gap she made, making her see the little dancing dust molds floating in the air, probably accumulated for months possibly years she didn't dared to count. Opening the door fully now, she landed a foot on the rooftop where the scent of flowers carried by the wind immediately assaulted her nose and purposely tore her attention to the intoxicatingly inviting smell.

To her blatant surprise, the place, she was definitely not expecting anything extraordinary just plain concrete and wire fencing, was converted to a garden. Square plant beds, pots of different shapes and sizes and boulders of rocks piled to one another to make a path for a manmade mini falls over a wooden pergola with a garland of lush greeneries coiling and climbing on every holes and cracks

She walked over the beds, folding her skirt between her thighs and crouching on her feet to the same height as the plants while trying to at least discern one shrub from the other. But since she wasn't into gardening and had no remotely close hobbies involving it, she failed to even name one. She knew one flowering plant though. Her eyes instantly recognized them, the familiarity all due to her mother growing the particular type of breed in their backyard back home. And if she still had her facts right, these particular flower breed were called primroses.

She had to admit, even though she never understood the fascination people had to flowers—for despite turning to pretty bouquets, one can only admire its beauty for a few days before they come to wilt—she finds these primroses lovely. There was something about its subtlety that was eye-catching—the clusters of small petals collectively forming a bud, yet still maintained its regal and elegant beauty, proving a bit proud yet dignified. She silently praised whoever grew these. He/she, whoever it was, had good hands and the right amount of patience for the meticulous job.

After admiring the flowers for a few more minutes, she finally tore her gaze away from the plant beds and walked near the ledge of the wire fencing, seeing the view below for the first time.

It was clearly a different experience from when you're below gazing up. It just didn't give the place justice. And now that she had the chance to look at it from above, she realized that she hasn't even seen a quarter of the campus yet—that was probably the reason why the guard went to all that trouble in drawing a map for her. Now she felt a little bad about poking fun out of it. This place was unbelievably huge. She's guaranteed to get lost if ever she wandered without specific directions. Just how many hectares do this school owned again?

There were fourteen more buildings aside from the one she was currently standing on. She took her map out and tried identifying the rest of those infrastructures. ' _Let see….over there is the administrative building…the clock tower…the auditorium…the indoor sports complex…the dormitories…oh, the library?_ '

Her eyes tore away from the map and looked up at one particular building that conspicuously looked museum- _ly_ and archaic. The marble finish of the whole building looked molted grey and soot-like black in between its cracks instead of an immaculate white finish. Probably because of acidity of the rain that would wash away its original contour in time, making what it looked like now. ' _So they had a whole building solely intended for the library._ ' She realized, a little excited to drop by later to look at whatever available collection of classics it can offer, before turning back to the map in her hands.

She then proceeded on pointing out the location of the outdoor fields, subtly noticing the location of the tennis courts that were found in the Northern West gates area. And coincidently, the area was _conveniently_ a short ten minute walk from her dorm. She snorted. The odds were obviously not in her favor even as she moved to another country. Somehow, the troublesome sport still insists on keeping a part of it in her life and it didn't matter when, where or how. She made a mental note not to ever cross the courts or anything that reminded her of tennis.

Folding the campus map for safe keeping, she thought of going to her dorm (she still haven't unloaded her stuffs) but the air was so cool outdoors, it's a waste to spend the rest of the morning inside, so she decided to stay for a while. She was sure enough that the rooftop wasn't off-limits (if it was, it wouldn't turn to be a looker with a garden that needed to be tended to) so she doesn't have to worry about violating any regulation in her unofficial first day in Tenryujin.

She searched for a good spot to stay and decided that the elevated compartment that led to a much higher view was the perfect spot. She climbed up the ladder, careful of her steps (she didn't want to hurt her heels—these were her favorite pair and they don't come off cheap), and finally reached the top. She then unceremoniously plopped herself against the cold touch of the concrete.

It was still spring the day she departed from the US yet the weather here was already tepid but not entirely dry yet. Summer was probably on its way. Her clothing apparel was unfortunately more suited for a colder season and so she gingerly took out her stockings and filed them next to her heels. She had also taken out her cardigan and draped it over her thighs. She won't risk being seen while wearing a dress (shirt) not that she doesn't have any spandex shorts underneath but its better safe than sorry.

Finding her clothing ensemble much _cooler_ than before, she tucked a loose tendril of her hair behind her ear before reaching out for her bag. She took out an envelope, rummaged through its contents before pulling out the one she needed. Her timetable.

She carefully examined it, taking in every detail. Her name was found on top, in Kanji instead of the usual English characters she's used too, and below was the lists of electives she'll be taking. The format was easy to understand. Printed first was the time, followed by the subject name, the class where she'll be taking it and lastly, the name of the instructor in charge. According to her class schedule, she had her **English** and **Science** s (Biology) with the seniors, her **Math** s (Calculus and Statistics) with the juniors and the rest of the remaining subjects left— **Japanese** , **History** (Japanese History), **Literature** (Japanese Lit), **Sociology** (Government), **Arts** , **Orchestra** , **Home Economics** and **Physical Education** with the freshmen.

It wasn't a huge surprise she had English and Science advance. Those two were her strongest suit after all. As for Mathematics, she has a fairly decent grasp on the concepts although she shone more on the latter two above anything else. It was probably too much if she'd taken it two grades advanced as well, not that she minded.

Then there're her freshmen classes. The most logical reason she could think of about why she had Japanese, History, Literature and Sociology together with the students around her age was most likely because she was still technically a foreigner in this country, despite her Japanese roots, and was thus unfamiliar with how Japanese society worked. That was technically true. She never experienced any of the country's cultures yet. Heard of it? _Yes_ , some of it since she had read up those travel brochures laying on their house that depicted some of the Eastern country's most honored traditions that were still being celebrated until now but she's not vastly knowledgeable with them either. On the other hand, if this was American History and Government, she had them memorized all in her head, but that was another story.

If it was just speech, her Japanese was good enough but sometimes, her manner of speaking has a distinct Western accent in it and was more pronounced in certain situations. Ryoga would openly point it out to her on several occasions, some of which earning a cold withering glare whenever he laughed at her disposal. He even made a bet with her once, staking an opportunity to dine at the luxuriously rich and classy _Italiano la Countéle_ Hotel if she managed to keep proper Japanese enunciation for a week, which of course she won in flying colors much to Ryoga's and his wallet's demise.

Her Literature, on the other hand, was not a difficulty. She had taken a special course program back in her old school and does fairly well with it. Moreover, she'd been reading classics lately upon the recommendation of her previous manager who was an avid reader herself, and strangely enough, Ryoma found them into her liking as well. But that was about Western Classics and Literature. Heroic stories about Homer's Olympian Gods and Goddesses or tragedies like Shakespeare's Hamlet were naturally invalid. She had absolutely zero knowledge about Japanese Literature so it figures why she had to take it with the freshmen.

Then came the minor subjects. In all honesty, her _talent_ , hidden or undiscovered, in them was close to nothing but nonexistent. She didn't need to take these electives in her old school before, only Physical Education was clearly an exception because it's mandatory.

Her artistic sense had never existed in the first place. She can't even draw anything without somehow salvaging it to some sort of a deformed mosaic. Her musical sense had also suffered the same predicament. She was musically and sound deaf that not even pitching or coaching can help recover some ears for music. Having to cook was a tolerable idea but even so, the only thing she'd cooked before was boiled eggs and that was only after her mother was completely assured she could at least handle heating raw eggs without burning the house. Her only saving grace as of the moment was her most favorable nonacademic subject.

And the Physical Education program for freshmen this term was supposed to be…. _dancing_?

' _Hn._ ' Her eye twitched a bit; lips pursued together to a disgruntled frown. Let's just say she wasn't the most graceful person when dancing, not that she had tried to dance before, but she just knew the limitation of her abilities and dancing was just already pushing it. She dumped the paper back to the envelope and draw out another paper…or at least what meant as just a single piece of paper.

What she had was at least ten-pages.

She'd been narrowly curious before why a club list needed too much paper for. Now that she was looking at it, she kind of understood the need for it. Below the names of every single existing club were paragraphs, _pleasantries_ , she amended quickly, describing the nature of the club, the advisor in charge and the location of the clubroom. Although she mostly skipped the non-highlighted parts, knowing that those clubs had their fill of quota and wouldn't be getting any members until it's time for another semester, as Ms. Kamioka had pointed out earlier.

Those in yellow-tinted highlights were the only options she can choose from. _Popular_ clubs were immediately out of the picture, coveted clubs that every student seemed to want to be a part of. The student council, the different media clubs and sports clubs were immediate out of the picture. The orchestra club and the other music-relating clubs (she too lazy to go over it but seriously, were they really different?) were also full but she didn't need to think twice about them as musicality was proven to be a bit of a challenge for her. The same goes with the art clubs, horticulture clubs and the cultural clubs.

Her eyes then roved over to the back pages where the existing committees were found, finding that most of them were still unfilled. She'd probably go with the committees. The credentials were generous enough anyway. Now, she'll just have to find one which didn't look troublesome enough. A laidback club like the _going home club_ (which she doubt exists).

As her eyes droned over the lists, it caught to her interest the Health Care Committee option which was supervised by the school physician, Fushimi Naoto-sensei, and was located in the second floor of the D3 building.

She wasn't exactly opting for a health care profession in college, but she's been recently interested in the medical field, randomly searching about new advances in the field and shuffling to and from different diseases. Her father was the very victim of her growing interest. She'd slashed him far too frequently about his smoking habits to prove the point. But really, she thought it won't take much of her time so she might as well go with it. And the luxury of easy-assessed beds to nap on was tempting enough.

Finally deciding on that, she returned back the papers, thinking of filling up the club registration form later when she gets to her room. She then drew out a pamphlet which according to Ms. Kamioka contained the details for the honors classes. She knew her mother would be pleased if she were to take the program, seeing how it would benefit her college credentials. She might as well try attending one to make her mother happy.

She read a page or two, skimming and not really going through every little detail (there were far too many pleasantries for her liking), until she turned to the page where the offered special courses were listed. The first thing she saw was the language courses. The course covered a lot really. Different languages from around the world, even dead languages like Latin were offered. And the instructors were also foreigners judging by their names, probably proficient experts all over the world hired for the job.

Since she'd come across this, she thought of having one language course this term. While English and Japanese were her prompt language and had proved her useful when travelling in between countries, it didn't as much helped her beyond America and Japan. During her tennis tours way back then, she'd picked up the hard way of learning a little of the host country's language. It was certainly convenient to try and learn one, not that she was touring for the sport anymore (or so she tried to convinced herself). It was for her own cause, she reasoned. Here in a foreign country without anyone knowing her background just her modeling career, she had long quitted the game and was not planning on going back. _Not ever_.

She laid her head on the cold concrete, her eyes covered behind her lids as her lips parted to let a worn-out sigh escaped. She was over this. She had made up her decision long ago and had built her mental resolve to never go back. She'll never come back. To tennis. To her past self. To whatever reminded her of the sport. _Never_.

' _Sometimes, I wish I could escape reality. So it won't hurt this much._ ' She made a sharp intake of breath then released it slowly before repeating the process yet again. It was a little trick, as her psychiatrist liked to call it, to help her relax and dispel negative thoughts whenever she felt too frustrated or was hurting. She had to admit, it helped sometimes, but only to a certain degree when she's not forcing herself to forget. In the long run, she came to realize that it was easier to manage her _symptoms_ when she do the exercise and forced herself to forget at the same time. It might not be healthy and her psychiatrist might berate her for this, but she'd rather went the unhealthy yet easier way than continue suffering from her personal demons.

Opening her eyes once more, she was indeed feeling better. She pushed the remnants of the memory further down her consciousness, before finally forgetting everything completely.

She thought of heading back now but she was too exhausted to move and stayed laid down for a little bit longer. She was probably still a bit jetlagged from the drastic change of time zones between the two countries. It won't probably be a bad thing if she decided to take a short nap here on the outside. It's windy anyway despite the glaring afternoon sun. It'll be cool and she'll get to bask out the sun. The warm was always her kind of day.

Shifting her position into a comfortable one, her body lying on one side with her head lying on one arm and her legs curled slightly for her cardigan to cover, she slowly closed her eyes, her mind drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

* * *

4/5/2016


End file.
